


Echoes of a Crying Child

by PadfootIsMyHomeDawg



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adorable Harry, Halloween 1981, Severitus, canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-24 09:58:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6149869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PadfootIsMyHomeDawg/pseuds/PadfootIsMyHomeDawg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Already he knew that Lily would've wanted him to care for her son, and already he had accepted it. Oh, it would be hard – he hadn't the first idea on how to raise a child, and then Dumbledore needed to be able to make it happen with the Wizengamot – but he had done hard things before." Severus takes Harry Halloween 1981.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Echoes of a Crying Child

**Author's Note:**

> I found another fic while going through my files - I only see this as a oneshot right now, unless I get a really good idea on how to continue, which to be honest probably won't happen. But here's this! Hope you enjoy it. ;)

Severus Snape apparated with a crack into Godric's Hollow, not giving a single damn that a Muggle might see. He had heard from the Death Eaters that…

No. He couldn't think about that. He rushed down the street, without a care to who might see him running, or how undignified it may look, rushing in his black robes without bothering to make them billow impressively behind him. They did billow, but that was only an attestment to how fast he was going.

He stopped in front of the house that he should not be able to see – not with the Secret Keeper in place. He knew for a fact that Black had been made Secret Keeper for the Potters on the twenty-eighth, just three days previous. He should not be able to see how half of the roof had fallen through, smoke billowing out along with a disturbing, evil sort of green matter, like a mist or a fog.

There was no Dark Mark…was he not too late?

He rushed through the Muggles beginning to gather – had there been an explosion that attracted them? Was that the reason for half the roof's disappearance? – and ran up the cobbled steps.

The door was open, just barely, and he could feel the aura of Dark, evil magic as he stumbled through, suddenly unable to find the strength or speed he'd had just moments before. Would she be dead? He didn't care so much about Potter, but – Lily? Would she be alright? The Dark Lord had said he would do his best to spare her…would he have kept his promise? There were rumors already that he had disappeared. Had she – somehow – been able to defeat him? His sweet, wonderful, beautiful Lily Evans – defeat the most evil wizard of the century?

He hardly noticed the tears falling from his eyes as he swept past Potter, lying at the base of the stairs – his hazel-colored eyes wide and staring, forever frozen in determination and bravery and terror all at once.

He got to the door of the nursery – it was slightly ajar – he pushed it open, and…

There she was. She lied, sprawled on her stomach, head to the side so her green eyes were visible, open and staring blankly in front of her. Her hair swept around her like liquid fire, tumbling down her back and falling away from her face. She looked terrified.

He stumbled against the doorframe, his body wracking with sobs. Lily. Sweet Lily. His Lily. His best friend, whom he had betrayed to the Dark Lord. This was all his fault – she was dead. Dead.

He stumbled his way further into the room, sobs spilling freely as tears coursed unchecked down his cheeks. He gathered her up into his arms – she was still a bit warm – and rocked her limp form, pressing the side of her head to his chest in a hug, like one would give to a small child. He could almost hear his heart splintering in half as he lost himself in his grief. He felt like a little boy, suddenly young again as he cried his pain. He could almost hear the echoes of a child in his head.

Wait. No, he realized as his pain began to dull to a deep ache and his weeping grew quieter. He could hear a  _real_  child crying.

His head snapped up, searching the room for the crib. Surely…?

But no. Just a few feet away, there was the little boy's crib, a piece of ceiling trapping the boy inside. He was crying – sobbing much as Severus had been just a moment before. His eyes were scrunched shut in pain, and his forehead was bleeding.

When the little boy – Harry, Severus remembered – didn't hear Severus crying so loudly, he began to calm a bit, and opened his eyes to look straight at him.

_Lily._

Although the child was fifteen months old now, he hadn't ever actually met him. He had heard from a fair few that had known him before he went into hiding that he looked like Potter, but had Lily's eyes, but until he saw them, he had never truly believed that they could be so close as to be exact replicas.

He looked down sadly at the woman in his arms –  _too young, much too young to die. Lily, you still had a full life ahead of you!_ – and a tear splashed to her cheek from his eye.

With careful movements, he gently brushed his hand over her eyes, closing them so that she merely looked like she was sleeping. Tenderly, he set her body down to the ground, lying face-up in a more comfortable position than before…not that it mattered now.

"Owie," came the small voice from the crib. "Mama – owie."

Severus turned to look at Harry, who was rubbing a closed fist to his forehead, smearing some of the blood. His eyes were still watery and his lip wobbled, as though he would begin crying again at any moment.

"Yes, Harry. 'Owie'," Severus said sadly, talking more about the pain of losing Lily. He walked over to the crib, levitating the broken piece of ceiling out so that Harry was no longer trapped in the crib. It was a miracle that it hadn't crushed the boy.

He was just about to turn and leave – no doubt Dumbledore would be by soon to make sure the child was safe – when said child looked up at him with wide, trusting eyes, and lifted his arms.

"Up," he demanded, though it sounded more like a plea, his eyes still tearing.

Snape tried to scowl – this was  _Potter's_  child, after all – but he found that he didn't have it in him. This was Lily's child too, something that was hard to forget when those eyes were staring up at him exactly as hers once had.

So he picked up the boy under his arms and settled him to rest on his waist – feeling a brief flare of amusement at the realization that he had just taken an order from a one-year-old. The boy stared up at him still, then rubbed his forehead again, repeating, "Owie."

"Let me see that," Severus said in a far gentler voice than he knew he possessed. He gently moved the boy's arm – still pudgy with baby fat – away from his head so that he could see what was bleeding.

He felt something freeze in him when he saw the jagged lightning bolt cut on his forehead, just above his eyebrow. That was no ordinary cut, he knew with an ominous feeling. In fact, that looked very much like a curse scar.

He quickly connected the dots in his mind, though it was admittedly slower than normal. Lily must have died to protect her son, and that sacrifice had kept Harry alive when Voldemort tried to kill  _him_.

He pushed those thoughts from his mind as he pulled out his wand, first casting a cleaning spell on the boy and then a healing spell. The boy appeared to be quite a bit more content, and he rested his head on Severus' shoulder, sniffing slightly as he closed his eyes.

Surprised by this action, Severus nevertheless began soothingly patting the boy's back, already making plans in his head.

_Black is the traitor – obviously he can't raise the boy, never mind that he is the boy's godfather. Lupin is a werewolf – the Ministry would never let him. Pettigrew couldn't care for a pet rat, let alone a child. Potter's and Lily's parents are all dead,and Potter was an only child. Anyone would be an absolute **fool**  to send Harry to live with Petunia – she would hate him on principle of being a wizard, and no one deserves that. They had no other relatives…they threw in all their lot with Black._

Already he knew that Lily would've wanted him to care for her son, and already he had accepted it. Oh, it would be hard – he hadn't the first  _idea_  on how to raise a child, and then Dumbledore needed to be able to make it happen with the Wizengamot – but he had done hard things before.

He made his way out of the room and back down the stairs, trying to shield Harry's eyes from his dead father, but the boy stirred just as they walked past him.

"Dada," he said sleepily, pointing to the man on the stairs. "S'eeping?"

Severus swallowed against a swell of emotion in his throat. "Yes, Harry," he said in a choked voice. "Your dada's sleeping."

Harry squirmed a bit as though wanting to be let down, but then stopped and looked up at Severus. "Wake up?"

Severus shook his head, still fighting against his emotions. "No, Harry – I think he's going to keep sleeping."

Harry frowned and looked back at his daddy. He didn't understand.  _He_  always slept with his eyes closed. "Eyes," he said simply, pointing.

Severus understood, and he knelt down to brush Potter's eyes closed. He still hated him, but he was dead. There was nothing to be done now.

He made his way from the house, walking past the gawkers with a simple disillusionment charm on both himself and the child in his arms.

Just as he apparated away, the roar from the engine of a motorcycle sounded down the street, heading straight for the destroyed Potter house.


End file.
